The Phoenix
by ZJeM
Summary: Weaknesses are what create us, define us and make us who we are. The one and only person who was able to change him was his fatal flaw. But who said we aren't allowed to feel frail, sometimes? [Written for Tumblr's MxMDay 2014]


**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Death Note_ - Õba Tsugumi & Obata Takeshi do.

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><p><strong>Written for the Tumblr's MxM Day 2014 (08.07.14).<strong>

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><p><strong>Dedicated to <strong>**MxMSupporter****.**

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><p><strong>Suggested listening:<strong> Fall Out Boy - _The Phoenix_

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><p><em><strong>The Phoenix<strong>_

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><p>I slowly stood up, leaning right as if that could separate me from the raw tissues that were the left half of my body. It was a hopeless attempt to create a safety zone for the injury, its own personal bubble of space. I knew it was ridiculous, a meaningless try to protect the wound, but it wasn't like I could control it. It was pure instinct and no force could do anything about the subconscious need.<p>

_Just like myself having made that call..._

I shook my head to get rid of the burning feeling of defeat in my stomach and returned to examining the body I didn't recognize but that was going to stay mine, from then onward. I was afraid to pull out my arm, bewaring the pain, concerned about making the burns even worse than they already were, too. How would that movement even be able to do so, huh? Yet another issue I couldn't think rationally about.

_Similar to the thing that had gone for so long between me and M-_

No, I swallowed through the dryness of my throat, don't let yourself muse about that. I winced when a jolt of pain shot through my face and, thank God, the aching sensation was enough to get me back from the universe of fantasy. The wound was still moist, I could feel it in the way air felt a thousand times heavier and colder in contact with that area than with the rest of my body. I didn't dare touch it to support the hypothesis.

A peculiar thing that indeed was, how one could still survive ripping half of their flesh apart, melting it like a heated candle, watching the lobes of surface that had once been called _skin_ slowly peel off, leaving nothing but agonizing pain behind. I could still remember the feeling of breathing with air so hot it hadn't even been air anymore, it had become a ridiculous creation of gaseous fire.

"Mello?" I also didn't forget that pained look behind _his_ goggles, when the touch meant to bring rescue caused me only to suffer more. What had happened after that? That I didn't know, even Mihael Keehl had to had finally lost consciousness when faced with that kind of personal carnage.

"I'm here" I mumbled, bracing myself to face _him_ again and trying to fool myself that my heart hadn't just felt as if all the weight of the world had freed its crushed form. No relationships. No attachments. Rely only on yourself. I knew the rules, right? It had been me who had created them.

I didn't see him enter the bedroom, as the door wouldn't show in the mirror, but I knew he was there. He was always near and I always knew he was. Guess that was a kind of unspoken pact between us. "What did I tell you about taking the dressing off before I came back?" I heard a murmur scold me right in my ear and didn't manage to stop a wince. It weren't his hands on my wrists causing me pain, but at the same time... It _were_ his slim fingers on my skin making me suffer.

The pain of feeling weak was always the hardest to bear.

He half guided, half dragged my to the bed where there already laid boxes of bandage and all that stuff he always used. I still hadn't looked at him directly, but restraining myself was becoming too hard and too tiring. He started re-dressing the burns, his touch feather-light on the sensitive remains of, once healthy and strong, tissue.

_Weak, frail, submissive..._ That was what had been left of Mihael Keehl, Mello, Wammy's House's second best... _Second..._ With Matt being his savior and redeemer, hadn't he now fell even lower in the ranks?

"Don't touch me" I growled, suddenly moving out of his reach. That was the first time I allowed myself to have a single look at his face. Being a human was bound to making mistake after mistake, wasn't it? Matt's shining forest-green orbs were staring at me in confusion, the look that had always made me feel small, give up on any crazy idea I had had, retreat to being a polite orphanage resident. Well, not anymore. That helpless kid had been gone with the first leather sheet I had claimed as mine

"Having a bad day, aren't we..?" he muttered, looking out of a dirty square that had, maybe, once been called a window. Sighing, he turned back to me, sniffling just once or twice because that lair had obviously no heating at all. Sometimes I thought if it wouldn't have been better if I had stayed in that damn fire, at least it had been warm. "You really think so?" I jerked my head up to see a slight frown drawing Matt's eyebrows together. Oh, so I had actually said the last sentence out loud?

I didn't reply, fighting not to return the intense look he gave me. After a few moments of silence, drinking in the smell of each other's sweat and the odor of medical supplies, Matt returned to taking care of my patched-up self. I felt my ears burn when the red wisps of his dyed head of hair almost collided with my face while he bent a bit to get a better angle for his rough-skinned hands. It was a weird thing, actually. When we had been younger, we could have done anything together and now... There was no problem with showing the burns to him, it didn't feel like a naked form of mine, after all, but the other side of my chest..?

"I'm done" I jumped up when his face had suddenly dug through the blackout of thoughts. I could feel his breath on my cheeks, could see the scratch he'd got (When, and how? I wasn't there with him to know.) on his nose, would have been able to count his eyelashes if I felt like it. I swallowed the stifling lump in my throat and hoped that the burning feeling in my cheeks wasn't really there, or that it was the burns' doing.

"Thanks" I mumbled, lowering my head (_weak, weak!_) and counting the seconds to his leave because it was too much to handle, how much he cared while I had treated him like he didn't deserve to be treated over and over again. What still made him stay, after all the humiliation I had caused him to feel? After every time I had thrown him into the dirt? After the countless yells of him not being important, not when compared to _my goal_?

(Bullshit. Deep down, I knew they were all lies.)

"You're not weak, Mello" the tender whisper made me froze. It wasn't until then that I felt his hand squeeze mine lightly. I slowly looked up, fearing what I was going to see, and almost forgetting how to breathe at the sight of the delicate happy-sad smile on his lips and the depth of his gaze.

(_Love, love. _The only one who ever looked at M.K. like that.)

"I know what you're thinking... I guess..." he trailed off, scratching the back of his head in consideration. "Getting that thing" he motioned to the left side of my body "It wasn't a defeat. It was just... Dunno... An on-the-job accident?" he chuckled quietly, a grin spreading on his features. "I know you won't let that thing stop you, am I not right? That's hell of motherfucking strength, if you ask me. To get back to your shit after something like this" he added, fishing out in the pocket of his jeans with his free head to summon one of the inherent smokes of his.

I let myself relish the first smell of reek, for once not analyzing anything that surrounded me, giving myself the time for those words of his to sink in. Not _remember_ them, write them over my heart, join the precious collection in what I protected about myself the most. Just me and him, hiding in a dark cubbyhole of a flat, holding each other's warm, comforting hand and listening to the silence of our synchronized breathing. Damn, he'd done that again. I let myself fall for him one more time.

(And the weirdest thing was that I never really minded.)

(Rankings didn't matter, he'd always been the smarter one, anyway.)

"Yeah, you're right" I answered, laughing lightly at the fish pout he made at the sight of my smile. The first true smile since I'd left. I was finally back home, wasn't I?

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><p><em>I'm gonna change you like a remix<br>Then I'll raise you like a phoenix_

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><p><strong>ZJeM, 04-06.07.14<strong>

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><p><strong>From author:<strong>

I've just come up with an interesting scenario for MxM, I'm sure somebody had already thought of it but whatever: Matt and Mello were close friends at Wammy's. Then, Mello left and joined the mafia. Somehow during that time, him and the redhead met again, and, though the blond kept distance (or it kept itself naturally), Matt gave his him phone number, _just in case_. BANG! The explosion, Mellie calls him. c:

Unfortunately (or it's a good thing, actually?), I've never dealt with severe burns. All that was written here is based on what I know it feels like to have cuts after an operation. :)

Aaand, I hope it's not _too_ OOC..? If anybody, I'm more similar to Matt than Mello. Hope I didn't turn the blond into a drama king. ;)

I'm so very sorry for the crappiness of the ending. I got this feeling that if I stayed on it any longer, I'd hate this little story. I'm sorry. T^T

All said, enjoy your MxM Day, dear shippers! :D

THANKS FOR READING!


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